


New Year's Day

by Areiton



Category: Suits (US TV), Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Getting Together, Growing Up, Healthy Relationships, M/M, New Years Eve, Reunions, grief and mourning, mostly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-10-01 22:41:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17252747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Areiton/pseuds/Areiton
Summary: I want your midnightsBut I'll be cleaning up bottles with you on New Year's Day





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I heard this song (New Years Day by Taylor Swift) and I couldn't stop thinking about how it needed fic.   
> And since I couldn't decide if it was a Marvey or a Sterek fic--it's both.   
> Chapter 1 is mostly Sterek, and Marvey is the focus in Chapter 2. 
> 
> Happy New Years, darlings!

 

  _You squeeze my hand three times in the back of the taxi_  
 _I can tell that it's going to be a long road_  
 _I'll be there if you're the toast of the town babe_  
 _Or if you strike out and you're crawling home_

 

This is what it was supposed to be: a celebration.

A finger--a classy finger, but the point remained--to the year that almost broke them, a celebration for everyone who stood at their side, and a declaration, to woo more to them.

It was supposed to be a celebration--and in a way, it was.

It was so much more.

~*~

The party is elegant. Not surprising--after almost a year at Pearson Specter Litt, elegance and class was something Stiles had come to expect. Harvey might be a giant nerd, and a dirty fighter, but he hid that away under a polished facade of perfectly tailored suits, impeccable hair, and that damn smirk.

He would hate the man, if he hadn’t understood him so well.

Because he was there. Six months into his internship his second year of law school, and somehow he’d caught Specter’s eye.

So he was there, reading through briefs while nibbling on his pen, and he heard the shattering of glass, when the tumblr hit the polished wood of Harvey’s office. He was the one who _saw_ Harvey’s face, the way he’d looked lost and hopeful and devastated as he breathed, “ _Mike.”_

He’d hate him--but he understood that kind of hopeless devotion.

And Stiles _likes_ Mike, with his skinny ties and earnest smiles and sharp eyes. He’s a puppy with teeth.

And he’s coming toward Stiles now, a smirk on his lips that makes Stiles straighten. “It looks good, kid,” Mike says and Stiles almost preens.

“Harvey here yet?”

Mike’s gaze darts to the entryway, but he shakes his head. “He had a call to take, said he’d be a little late.”

Stiles hums into his champagne and wonders if this will be the night they finally stops dancing around each other--and then he hears a laugh.

~*~

Stiles got the internship because nepotism is a thing.

He knew it, and didn’t even feel bad--Stiles figured after all the shit Peter Hale was responsible for, and all the shit they survived together, he was owed a few favors. And Peter came through. He’d landed the internship his second year of law school that almost guaranteed a job when he graduated, and his path was paved.

Peter asked him once, if he was sure that it’s what he wanted. It was three thousand miles from home and a lifetime away from werewolves, and maybe that was exactly _why_ he wanted it.

He’d left for college after Monroe tore her way through Beacon Hills, and never once looked back.

And now he’s here. Three thousand miles and a lifetime away, and he would know that laugh anywhere.

He turns in the middle of a party he helped plan, a wooing and a celebration and a giant fuck you, and sees him.

~*~

Derek looks...softer.

There’s a smile tilting up his lips, and new lines around his eyes, and his shoulders are relaxed in a way that makes Stiles ache because he doesn’t look like he’s waiting to be attacked, and he always knew that would look amazing on him.

He looks softer, and happy and it makes Stiles want to sob with relief.

Derek’s shoulders stiffen a little, something that no one would notice. Except Stiles used to read Derek like a book, a guide to survive, and he knows that stiffness.

His eyes are wide and startled, and so hopeful it makes Stiles tremble as Derek excuses himself from the ladies he’s been talking to, making his way unerring to Stiles side. There’s flecks of gold confetti in his hair, and flecks of gold in the center of his eyes, and he’s close enough to touch, _here_ after seven years, and it feels like yesterday.

“Stiles,” he says, and it’s soft, fond, impossibly intimate, and Stiles leans into the hug he offers.

~*~

They talk in fits and starts.

Between clients approaching and associates who need directions, between drinks and the laughter and the band that Mike found--they talk.

About law school and his father retiring.

About Derek’s years of wandering Europe, and his return to Beacon Hills.

About graduating and Harvey taking him on.

About finding a pack that he actually trusted, and how hard it was to leave them behind.

They talk about home and their past and the years inbetween, about Scott and books, about school and Stiles’ new goddaughter--they talk about everything that means absolutely nothing.

~*~

It hurts.

He doesn’t expect that. But it _hurts._

The way Derek smiles and talks--like he’s a stranger.

He slips away, aware of Harvey watching him from Mike’s side, into the biting air of the rooftop and takes a shuddering breath.

The door rattles quietly behind him, and he closes his eyes, his breath puffing in the air. “Is this Peter’s fault?”

Because this they haven’t talked about this.

About how Derek found himself at a party hosted by Pearson Specter Litt on New Year’s Eve, three thousand miles and a lifetime away from Beacon Hills.

“He referred me to the firm, after I moved to New York,” Derek admits.

Stiles doesn’t answer and Derek shifts, so Stiles can feel the warm length of his body, less than an inch from his own.

“Does it bother you?”

Stiles laughs, and twists, staring up at Derek with eyes that are starlight bright. “ _No.”_

~*~

Derek leads him through the lobby. Stiles knows there will be hell to pay, tomorrow--but he doesn’t care too much, and he catches sight of Harvey, leaning into Mike, pressed against a pillar, and thinks maybe he doesn’t have anything to worry about.

Katrina and Donna are in the lobby, and Donna blows him a kiss, and Derek growls softly, tugs Stiles a little closer, away from the pretty girls he doesn’t know wandering drunk from the party.

“Possessive wolf,” he murmurs, fondly and Derek rumbles a quiet agreement that he feels down to his toes.

~*~

They’re quiet in the cab, and Stiles says, “Is this weird?”

“No,” Derek says. Stiles looks at him, and he smiles. It’s gentle and warm. “We were always going to find each other, Stiles. That’s what we do.”

Stiles makes a noise, hurt and completely involuntarily and Derek squeezes his hand, once, twice. A third time, while Stiles leans into his shoulder and the cab inches forward.

“I don’t want to be strangers anymore,” he whispers, and Derek hums.

~*~

It’s snowing, when they spill out of the cab, an Derek’s hand stays clasped in Stiles, tugging him toward the Chilton. His suit jacket has come unbuttoned and Derek has lost his tie, and he wants to keep this moment. This one, right here, where they’re together and trembling on the precipice of something Stiles convinced himself they couldn’t have.

“I missed you,” he says, suddenly and maybe Derek shouldn’t hear him, in the noise of the street. But it’s _Derek,_ and Derek has always heard Stiles.

“I don’t want to miss you anymore,” Stiles says, and it feels like an echo of what he said in the cab.

It’s so damn honest it makes him itch with vulnerability and Derek--Derek turns, and pulls him close.

His hand is on Stiles’ jaw, tipping his face up to him. Snow catches on his eyelashes and he murmurs, “You won’t, sweetheart.”

~*~

They don’t kiss when the ball drops, but they kiss, there on a crowded sidewalk, snow falling around them, three thousand miles and a lifetime away from where they began and Stiles clings to Derek, the way he always been able to cling to Derek, and he thinks this.

This right here. Is perfect.


	2. Chapter 2

_ Don't read the last page _

_ But I stay when it's hard or it’s wrong or you’re making mistakes _

_ I want your midnights _

_ But I'll be cleaning up bottles with you on New Year’s Day _

 

The party is in full swing, when he arrives. He’s late, and it annoys him--not because he cares about the party. That is all Louis and Donna, and Stiles. 

And the party is perfect, all glitter and glitz. It’s dripping in gold and confetti, champagne bubbling in delicate flutes. A small army of servers move through the guests with trays of hor d'oeuvres and champagne. 

It’s beautiful. Perfect. A celebration, yes, and a quiet fuck you to everyone who doubted them. And he knows that Donna and Louis are doing their part, wooing new clients--he hopes Stiles is, but he caught sight of him on his way in, talking to Hale, and from the look on Stiles’ face, he’s pretty sure he’s lost the kid for the night. 

Then he sees Mike. 

And Stiles, the party, clients--all of it--vanishes. 

He’s in a gray suit, so dark it’s almost black, a black shirt and tie, and it  _ hurts _ . 

There’s a smile on his lips, small and satisfied. He hasn’t seen that smile often, since Mike came back. 

He hasn’t pressed--Mike showed up at his office, looking haggard and heartbroken and Harvey hadn’t hesitated, had welcomed him home and Mike had stepped back into his life like he had never moved to Seattle. 

He never mentions Rachel and Harvey--Harvey doesn’t know how to broach that giant elephant in the room. 

Mike catches his eyes, and his smile goes wide and warm, and Harvey feels a kick in his gut that he never has gotten used to. 

~*~ 

Mike is grinning at a pretty blonde--a model, Harvey thinks--when he finally makes his way to the bar, and the way the girl is leaning into Mike, he knows damn well she’s a sure thing. 

If Mike wants her--she’s a sure thing. 

And that pisses him off. Not because she hasn’t glanced at him even once--because Mike is giving him half glances, because Mike is  _ his _ and he might have been willing to step aside for Rachel--but this girl is no Rachel. 

“Mike,” he says, a hint of command in his voice, just to see the way Mike’s shoulders twitch straight, the way his gaze snaps to Harvey, and a flush colors his cheeks. 

Harvey smirks. Even after all the years and all the miles that separated them--Mike still does that. 

He still  _ listens _ . 

“Excuse us, will you?” Harvey says, just a shade too dismissive to be polite, and tugs his wayward puppy away from the model. 

“That wasn’t nice,” Mike breathes. 

“Want me to let you go back? She looks like she could eat you alive,” Harvey says, glancing back, eyebrows raised and Mike snorts, and tugs him along. 

~*~ 

Mike came back. 

He came back and he worked, and he even got an apartment, put down roots, everything that said, he was here to stay, finally back where he belonged. But there's Rachel, the ghost of her between them, and Harvey feels it in moments like this. 

The last time they stood together in a crowded room with champagne and suits, Mike was getting married and leaving and Harvey realizes, suddenly, that he doesn't know how to stand here, in the shadow of that, and not address it. 

"What happened," he asks, finally. 

Mike looks at him, blue eyes bright and Harvey's heart gives a familiar lurch. He hasn't asked. 

Donna hasn't said, but there was a week, a few months before Mike came back, when he and Stiles floundered through on their own, because Donna vanished. 

"She died," Mike says, and his voice is tight, choked with tears and all the emotions he hasn't shown. 

"Kid," Harvey whispers, his heart aching. 

Because as much he resented Rachel. 

He didn't want this. 

Not like this. 

"I can't," Mike says, and he pushes past Harvey, into the crowd. 

Harvey lets him go. 

~*~ 

They find each other, later. Maybe an hour later, and Mike's eyes are a little red, but his smile is real, and he nudges Harvey with his shoulder. "Did you see Stiles?" 

"With Hale? Yeah. Pretty sure his uncle set that up." 

Mike hums thoughtful, and then gives Harvey a ghost of his wicked smirk. "Donna is gonna be pissed." 

It's true, and it startles a laugh from Harvey, something that makes Mike almost preen, and he blurts out, unthinking, "I missed you." 

Mike freezes, and Harvey rushes to fill the void. "This. Working with you, and this--"

Mike's fingers ghost over his wrist, and his smile is gentle, "I missed this too, Harvey." 

~*~ 

The thing is--it's been awkward. 

And things were never awkward between them, not even at the worst of it, when Mike was fresh from prison and seething with rage, and all of it directed at Harvey, intentional or otherwise. 

Even then, Harvey knew they'd be ok, because they  _ could _ rage, they could snap and snarl, and fight and even when they fucked up--god they fucked up so much--they were ok. 

Mike was his guy, and he had Mike's back. That's what he knew, what he couldn't shake, and it was true. 

Until it wasn't. 

And now--now Mike is back, and nothing is the same anymore, and he thinks, maybe not even that. 

He has Mike's back--always--but maybe. 

Maybe Mike doesn't need him. 

~*~ 

Harvey is standing near Donna when the ball starts to drop, and the entire room starts chanting. He's smiling, but quiet, content to watch, and Mike slips up beside him, presses a flute of champagne into his hands and that's how the year ends and begins--with a glass of Cristal between them and Mike's bright blue eyes steady on his, and everyone they know screaming around them. 

It's not, he thinks, a bad way to start the year, and his gaze drops to Mike's lips, shiny and pink. 

Not bad. 

But not exactly what he wants. 

~*~ 

"You look tired," Harvey says and Mike smiles up at him, listing to one side as he leans on the pillar. "Go home." 

Stiles is leaving, tugged along by Hale, a confused look of pleasure on his face, and Harvey almost sighs. 

Kids. 

"Come with me," Mike says, and Harvey's gaze snaps to him, startled. Not sure he heard right. He isn't nearly drunk enough to have heard  _ that _ , but there's Mike, a smile on his lips, peering up at him through a fringe of lashes, and Harvey nods. 

"Ok." 

~*~ 

There's confetti in the lobby, sparkling on the floor and girls are picking their way through it, barefoot, heels in their hands as they laugh and Mike watches them, a smile on his lips, and Harvey watches him. 

"You're staring," he murmurs, and maybe he is drunk. 

Maybe he is, or maybe he's just too tired and lonely to not say it. 

"You're beautiful," he murmurs, and Mike turns to him, a pretty, pleased smile tilting up his lips and brightening his eyes. 

There's glitter on his cheekbone, and Harvey touches it, entranced, before Mike inhales, breathes out, "Harvey." 

"Ok," he says, softly, softly, and leads Mike out to the waiting car. 

~*~ 

The kiss. 

Harvey's thought about being with Mike, but always in the abstract. He's thought about Mike in his bed and shower and kitchen, about working over lunch and debating over dinner and falling asleep with his head in Mike's lap on the couch, and a thousand other tiny details that make up sharing a life with someone, all of them things he never actually thought he'd have, because Mike left, Mike  _ left _ , and Harvey--let him. 

But now he's here, and his hand is on Harvey knee, and he thinks--maybe he gets to have this. 

Maybe he can have it all, or even just a little. 

He thinks, he would take anything Mike was willing to give him. 

But he's never thought about what kissing Mike would be like. 

Not until Mike's fingers--cool and damp, he needs gloves--touch Harvey's cheek and tilts Harvey toward himself and licks into his mouth with a low, hungry noise that makes Harvey gasp and pull Mike closer. 

~*~ 

Later, Mike peers at him through a nest of pillows and sheets and messy hair and says, "I thought about this." 

Rachel hovers, ghostlike, between them, and Harvey reaches for Mike, pulls him close, on top of him, and presses his answer into Mike's throat. "I did too, baby." 

Mike squirms a little, when Harvey's fingers slip down, pressing in, and then sighs, when he replaces his fingers with his cock. His hips roll back, a happy little whine caught in his throat, and Harvey wants to lick it from his lips, wants to hold it forever. 

"Did you want this?" Mike asks, pants, "Did you want me?" 

Harvey rolls them, and thrusts hard, hard enough that Mike  _ wails _ , fingers scratching at his back. "I want everything, baby. I want  _ everything _ ."

~*~ 

He wakes to the sound of Mike pulling on jeans, and blinks at him. 

"I gotta meet Stiles, clean up a little," he murmurs, and leans down to press a kiss to Harvey's lips. 

"Wait for me," Harvey mumbles and he can feel Mike watching him, as he clambers out of bed. There's something confused and bemused in Mike's gaze, something Harvey doesn't have the energy to handle until they're back at the hotel, and cleaning up. 

Hale is there, holding a bag, a patient smile on his lips as Stiles chatters and tosses trash into the bag. 

"We don't have people for this?" Harvey asks, disbelieving. 

"Learn how the other side lives, boss," Stiles shouts and Mike snickers. Asshole. 

"You didn't have to come," Mike reminds him, and presses a quick kiss to his lips, and a cup of coffee into his hand. 

Harvey catches him around the waist, and drags him impossibly closer. "I wanted to."

Mike's eyebrows are patently disbelieving, and Harvey smirks, before he kisses him. "I told you, baby. I want  _ everything _ ." 

 

_ There's glitter on the floor after the party _

_ Girls carrying their shoes down in the lobby _

_ Candle wax and Polaroids on the hardwood floor _

_ You and me from the night before _


End file.
